


Rituals, roles

by Kishushi



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Animal Play, F/M, Leather, Pup Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kishushi/pseuds/Kishushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Keep your claws in, pup," she reminded him. It had been months since Logan had last forgotten that, even if the other pups played rough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rituals, roles

"Keep your claws in, pup," she reminded him. It had been months since Logan had last forgotten that, even if the other pups played rough. (Besides, he'd ruined his first set of paws that way.) Kitty's words were essentially ritual now. So, also, was her touch to his collar (thick brown leather inset with triangular rivets of adamantium) and scratch to the short ear-shapes formed in his hair.

In this context she mostly called herself his trainer, though his behaviour was already shaped to how she wanted. But he'd been a little wary still of "owner" when they started. Two years in, "trainer" was the role name that had stuck, for all that he would never be a lone creature again. He belonged to Kitty.

She stroked down his bare back as she told him, "Go play with the rest of the pups. Remember I'm going to play today too." He didn't like that, and pressed closer against her legs. "Not right now. I'll tell you when."

* * *

After, Kitty sat down suddenly, muttering complaints about her knees. (His kneepads would have been far too big to share even without being custom-fit.) He had hung back to observe warily as three or four of the other pups scrambled to chase "the kitty". But they hadn't caught her, she had seemed to enjoy the game, and now he was back at her feet were he was supposed to be.

He ran his nose from her nearer boot up towards her knee. If he had the scenting abilities of an actual dog he could maybe have smelled if she was going to come up bruised. He pretended he could tell. Under her familiar sweat there was the tang from her phasing through: in today's game her legs through benches from her detour off the mat, and her feet through the football that a pup had left in the middle of things. She still smelled like herself. She was here, he belonged to her, and all was as it should be.


End file.
